Blocking the exit, at the end of the passageway of concrete blocks strung with barbed wire, were workers wearing red armbands and woven-willow safety helmets: they were armed with sharpened steel drills. He took out his work permit. The guard opened it, took one look, and waved him through. He was not from the area and had nothing to do with the dispute between the two rival factions. There were no vehicles on the road, and it was lonely and deserted, so he walked in the middle of the road where the bitumen radiated the heat of the glaring sun. People tend not to go crazy in broad daylight, he thought.
Bang! A loud noise cut the hot drowsy loneliness. At first, he didn't know that it was a rifle shot, and he looked around at the two sides of the street. The wall of a big factory had a slogan written on it in characters the size of a person's head: fight with your life
TO DEFEND CHAIRMAN MAO'S PROLETARIAN REVOLUTIONARY
line! At this, he realized that the sound he had heard was a rifle shot. He started running, but immediately stopped. He mustn't show that he was panicking, because it would make the sniper even more suspicious of him. However, he immediately got onto the footpath and walked at a brisk pace.
It was impossible to say where the shot had come from. Was it warning off pedestrians? Or was it aimed at him? They wouldn't indiscriminately kill someone, would they? He was passing through, and had nothing to do with their dispute. But supposing someone shot and killed him, who would come forward as a witness? He suddenly realized that he could have been killed by the sniper, that his life was in danger, and he immediately turned down the very first lane. The lane, too, was lonely and deserted, and it seemed as if all the residents had evacuated the area. Terror sprang up in his heart. Only then did he believe that the whole city could easily turn into a battlefield, that people could suddenly become enemies because of an invisible line, and that both sides could go into bloody battle because of it.
As expected, the square in front of the railway station was crowded with people, and there was a line of travelers snaking from the tightly closed ticket window. He asked someone in front what time they would start selling tickets, but the person didn't know and simply shrugged. He got into the line, and, before long, people from out of nowhere had lined up behind him. None of the people in the line had big pieces of luggage, and there were no old people or children. They were all strong young men, apart from a young woman with two short plaits, farther ahead in the line. From time to time, she looked around, but as soon as she made eye contact with someone, she averted her eyes. She seemed to be on edge, probably afraid of being recognized. It was his guess that many of the people in the ticket line were on the run, but the large numbers gathered in the square put his mind at ease, so he sat on the ground and lit a cigarette.
There was a stir, and the line instantly broke up. Something had happened. He stopped someone to ask, and was told that the river had been sealed off. He asked what that meant. There would be no ferries and trains operating! There was also talk that there would be a bloodbath. Whose blood and who was it going to wash? He couldn't get an answer. The people in the square had suddenly dispersed, and the ten or so, who, like him, had nowhere to go, gradually came together and formed a new line at the tightly shut ticket window. It was as if they had to do this to get the support of the others. By this time, the sun was setting, the clock at the station was pointing at five o'clock, and no one else was turning up.
The ten or so people left had been cut off from any source of information. Sensibly, they no longer stupidly lined up in the sun but found some shade to chat or smoke. Now and then, people made comments: the two factions were making their final decision, the military would soon intervene, boat and rail transport services couldn't be stopped for long and, at the latest, would be running again the next day. It was all positive thinking. He no longer asked questions. The young woman was still there but kept some distance from everyone. She stayed in a corner with her head down and her arms hugging her knees.
He was hungry and thought of buying something to eat so that he would be able to last until morning. Sleeping with his backpack as a pillow on concrete meant nothing more than looking at the stars all night, and somehow he would be able to get through this summer night. He left the ticket window and went around to the nearby shops, but they were all closed and shuttered for the night. There were no eating places open, and the streets and lanes on either side were empty and deserted. No vehicles had passed by for several hours. At this point, he sensed the air becoming thick, and he became tense, and, not daring to venture farther, he turned back. The shadow of the clock tower had already extended to the center of the square, and there were fewer people in front of the ticket window. The young woman was still huddled in the same spot and the talkative person was no longer talking.
The shadow of the clock tower now stretched over most of the square, and the outline of the dark shadow became more distinct with the sun directly behind. All strangers to one another, they were at a station, waiting for a train, but they didn't know when it would arrive. What if the tracks had been cut? Were they really waiting for a civil war?
Bang-bang-bang! A burst of muffled gunfire reverberated in everyone's hearts, and they all got to their feet. Following this was a continuous volley of gunfire, also muffled, but this time it was machine-gun fire, and it was somewhere not far away. Everyone scattered like animals, and he, too, ran for his life. This was war, he thought.
It was a blind alley, a narrow corridor with a wall on the one side and hemp bags stacked higher than a person on the other. He had escaped into a warehouse. When he stopped to catch his breath, he heard a noise, and, turning around, he saw the young woman slumped against a pile of hemp bags, also trying to catch her breath.
"What happened to the others?" he asked.
"I don't know."
"Where are you going?"
The woman did not answer.
"I'm going to Beijing."
"I… am too," the woman said after a pause.
"You're not a local, are you?" he asked, but the woman didn't answer.
"University student?" he asked, but again she didn't answer.
It gradually grew dark, and a cool breeze started blowing. He felt his sweat-soaked shirt clinging to his back.
"We'll have to find a place to spend the night, it's not safe here," he said, walking out of the warehouse. He looked back and saw the woman quietly following but keeping a few paces away. He asked, "Know of anywhere to stay?"
"Near the station, but it's too dangerous to go back. There are places along the river, close to the wharf, but it's a very long walk," the woman said quietly. She was clearly a local, so he insisted that she lead the way.
Sure enough, below the big embankment, along the river, in a little street of old houses, youths were standing outside or sitting in doorways, chatting with one another across the road and asking about the battle. Until the bullets hit them in the head, they couldn't help being curious, even excited, by it all. The shops and little eating places were all closed, but two places with lights on the doors were old-style inns, where traveling traders and craftsmen used to stay. One of them was full, but the other one had a small room with a single bed.
"Do you want it or not?" asked the fat woman behind the counter, waving a fan.
He immediately said yes and took out his identity card. The woman took it and made an entry in the register.
"What's your relationship?" the woman asked as she wrote out the entry.
"Husband and wife." He winked at the woman beside him.
"Surname and name?"